Finale
by sickoftakenpennames
Summary: Duncan, after winning the million dollars, has a party thrown in his honor, courtesy of TDA. But it doesn't seem he kept a lot of friends in the course of the show. Will he make the right decisions, come the end of the night? T for language/content.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Total Drama Action.**

**Well, I was planning this to be longer, but seeing as there's only one episode left to air and I don't really want it to contradict whatever I might say, this'll probably seem kinda rushed out.**

* * *

**"Hey, viewers out there! You all tuned in last time to watch Duncan and Beth duke it out in the battle for the million buck-a-roos! In the end, though, it was Duncan that prevailed above all. And now, in his honor, we're throwing the biggest, hugest, raddest 'Happy Million Dollars' party a budget of... ten grand... can buy. Yeah. Irony rears its ugly head.**

**But whatever. Let's tune in now."**

* * *

Streamers and party lights adorned the room as the ousted contestants showed up in their best formal wear, some borrowed from the wardrobe closet that held costumes from former movie sets.

Everyone sat down in their seats, addressed individually with their names each custom-printed on formal cards on top of their plates.

There was small talk and chatter everywhere, filling the air with festivity before there was a light tinging sound coming from the front of the room.

Everybody turned their heads in the host's direction, seeing Chris in a brand-spanking new tuxedo, Chef standing guard (snazzily dressed as well) next to him.

After making sure he had caught everyone's attention, Chris spoke and gestured to the delinquent victor sitting down on his right.

"I think you all know why you're here tonight."

He raised the glass of champaign that had been resting at the head of his podium.

"To celebrate the victory of this fearless and valiant competitor!"

There was a small round of applause as Duncan looked over the crowd, smirking. That is, until he caught Courtney's eye.

The two looked to another direction immediately, not forgetting their last feud.

"At the end of the night, he shall receive his check for the one million dollars he so rightfully earned and deserves!"

There was a loud, unpinpointable scoff after the last statement.

Chris squinted in annoyance and continued with his speech.

"So, without further ado, let's get this party started!"

Within seconds, KISS' unmistakable 'Rock & Roll All Nite' was blasting out of the speakers situated at the sides of the stage, courtesy of the playlist Duncan had hand-picked out himself for the party.

Soon contestants were roaming around the room dancing, conversing, congratulating Duncan on his win, or just plain hanging around.

Courtney sat at her table twiddling the ribbon that had previously been holding her utensils and napkins together in a neatly wrapped bundle as Harold chatted to DJ to her left. She had curled her hair, picked out her best dress, and risked spraining an ankle on her three-inch heels on the way here from her studio room.

And for what? To be blatantly reminded how she had lost out on one of the biggest opportunities of her life, and to have it thrown back in her face by some dropout that hadn't even wasted half the effort she had put into winning this contest?

She silently cursed herself for not choosing to go home immediately after the season finale like the show had offered the contestants.

Suddenly a large flash of glittery pink appeared in the corner of her eye, smothering Harold in the process.

"Hey, Hanky-poo! Did you miss me?" Beth squealed as she wrapped her arms tightly around her new crush's neck. "'Cause I missed you!"

Harold desperately tried to wriggle out of the girl's grasp, not wanting LeShawna to bear witness to this atrocity taking place.

"Beth, for the last time, I'm not interested!"

Harold broke free of her hold and inhaled deeply.

"Gosh!"

He broke off in a sprint across the room, Beth following in close pursuit.

Courtney smirked at the fact that at least she wasn't the only one miserable at this shindig.

She stayed at her table for a few minutes before a small crowd of four walked in front of her table, catching her attention. She saw Duncan standing in the middle of them, looking smug with Heather's arm hooked in his.

Courtney pursed her lips in withheld fury, waiting for him to make the first move.

"Having fun?" he taunted, obviously poking at her current solitary state.

"Time of my life," she spat back out, putting on her best expression of defiance. She had, after, all, picked it up from him.

He smiled, in a way that read _'I know you're B-Sing, but two can play at that game.'_

"Well, the punch is over there, if you need it," he remarked, stabbing a thumb in the direction behind him as he started walking away, possey in tow.

Courtney snorted, rolling her eyes at his purposeful display of snobbery.

Tapping her finger on the tabletop for a minute, she suddenly scooted up out of her chair and headed for the dance floor.

Yeah, this was his party. But no way _he_ was going to hog all the spotlight the entire night. She had fought long and hard, and she was going to have her moment.

She was going to party her brains out and have the best damn night of her life, whether Duncan liked it or not!

* * *

**A/N: Working on chapter two as we speak.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own TDA.**

**Just trying to get it all out ASAP.**

* * *

Gwen looked around nervously, feeling uncomfortable in the sea of people she had somehow managed to get lost in.

She tried to wedge her way out of the crowd, stumbling as her heel caught on the edge of someone's chair and grabbing for a surface to hold onto for balance.

She drew in a sharp breath as the entire tablecloth scooted an inch under her weight, thankfully not toppling everything over in a glass fiasco.

Gwen apologized quickly, hearing the chair squeal across the tile as the occupant tried to apologize.

"Oh, crap, girl! I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

Turning around, Gwen found LeShawna staring back at her, a look of worry on her face.

Glancing back to make sure everything was okay at the table, Gwen tucked her hair behind her ear as she replied, "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Did you twist your ankle?"

"No, it's okay."

LeShawna breathed a sigh of relief. Resting a hand on Gwen's shoulder, she looked around before addressing the young girl.

"Whatchu doing out here? Why don't you go dancing or something?"

Gwen shrugged.

"Just not in the mood, I guess."

She glanced back at LeShawna, remembering who she had been looking for.

"Hey, have you seen Trent anywhere?" she asked, wanting to hang out with the musician ever since the two had made amends.

LeShawna seemed to be thinking hard.

"I think I saw him getting something to drink, but that was ten minutes ago. Could be anywhere."

Gwen's face dropped. Well, if he had gone for a drink, that meant he was probably near the west wing of the building.

LeShawna sat back down in her chair, but not before catching Gwen's attention again.

"Hey!"

Gwen turned back around abruptly, waiting for her friend's message.

"Watch out for tablecloths!"

The two smirked at each other as Gwen wormed her way back between the crowd.

* * *

Courtney whooped in joy as she started dancing more vivaciously, bumping into other partiers that had begun to wonder what on earth was possessing the girl to start acting so out of the norm.

Duncan glanced over in her direction, furrowing his brow as she got more and more into the pounding bass line of AC DC's 'Back In Black.'

Heather, bored and unoccupied, lazily glanced over at him, chin in hand and observing his expression.

She could see the gears turning in his head as he formulated a plan. Presumably the same kind of plan she spent a lot of her time concocting; getting even.

Rolling her eyes, Heather slapped her hand down on the table, catching his attention.

She gave him a look of pity. Glancing back out at Courtney, she took a deep breath and started to explain.

"Putting on a bit of a show out there, don't you think?"

Duncan frowned, turning to his side so Heather couldn't detect the hint of embarrassment lurking in his expression.

"You know she's doing it for your attention. Gonna give in?"

Duncan snorted.

"Like hell. And hey."

He leaned in closer to Heather's face.

"Who's the one walking out of here with a million bucks tonight?"

Heather smirked back at him, with the same kind of _BS_ expression he had handed Courtney earlier.

"Don't count your chickens before they hatch."

She gently shoved Duncan's face out of the way. He did, after all, have garlic breath.

* * *

Gwen glanced unsurely towards the long, bare hallway, save for the one, tall wooden doorway that led to the inventory room. Still, by process of elimination, she had looked through all the glass doors that allowed a view into each room in the building (except for the bathrooms), and this was the only door left.

Throwing a look back over her shoulder, she saw the hallway came to a sharp bend where she had passed, the strobe lights the only thing visible from the party. Here, everything was bathed in a warm, even glow emanating from the dome-shaped lights on the ceiling, which was a good five feet higher than the one the party was under.

She walked over to the door and laid her hand on the shiny brass knob. Pausing for a second, she wondered if maybe, just maybe, Trent had already headed back to the studio.

...Well, she would never know until she opened that door.

Creaking the door open, she poked her head in and skimmed over the contents of the room. There were old lamps sitting in tables adorned with dust bunnies, standing out in contrast with the updated alarm clocks sitting next to them. An old couch rested at an odd angle, its seats covered in plastic, forming the thinnest of shields between the fabric and dust accumulating over the entire area.

An old TV cerca the 1980's sat about seven feet in front of the couch. It was on, revealing slightly pastel-like footage from _The Long, Long Trailer,_ although it was more the movie quality than the TV itself. Gwen knew from a television one of her friends had when she was little (that had been just like this one) that these sets had been built to last over fifteen years or so, until manufacturers realized they could be making more money by building TVs that wore out in a little under five years.

It took Gwen a second to wonder why it was on when she finally noticed a familiar competitor standing casually behind one of the crates obstructing her view.

Stepping from out behind the crate, she gradually let herself into his view, hoping his peripheral vision would lead his eyes away from Lucille Ball tossing the salad over her shoulder as the trailer shook and rumbled.

Seeing a moving mass out of the corner of his eye, Trent turned to his left and saw her timidly inching closer to him. He smirked his half-crooked smile at her and returned his attention to the TV.

Gwen, feeling more comfortable after his signal, relaxed and stood closer next to him. He sipped lightly from his glass as they both watched 'Lacy' berate 'Nicky' in the coffee shop for sticking her in the back of the trailer.

Looking over at him, she pursed her lips and silently debated whether or not to ask him what had been on her mind for the last few minutes. As he continued to sip from his drink, she figured now was as good a time as ever, especially since he seemed so unoccupied now.

"So why are you hanging around back here?" she inquired, leaning forward a little as she tried to read his expression.

He shrugged, looking down at his drink before taking another gulp. He cleared his throat and answered nonchalantly.

"Just thought it'd be better back here. They got cable."

She smiled slightly, but it soon faltered. The air was suddenly tinged with an awkward silence.

He snorted and shook his head, causing her to snap hers around towards him in response.

"I just can't think of anyone that deserves it less."

She was confused for a second.

"...What, cable?"

"No," he retorted. "Duncan. The money."

"...Oh," she responded, feeling a little bit under attack from his answer.

He slowly shook his head, reaching out towards her and brushing her shoulder lightly before letting his hand drop to his side and putting it in his pocket. It was by this gesture she realized he didn't mean to direct his anger towards her.

"I mean," he continued. "It's not like he's gonna use it for anything important."

There was a short silence as he drank again, his brow furrowing.

"No, wait, that's not right. He can always use it to pay for that surgery to get his head outta his ass."

Gwen snickered behind her hand. He looked at her, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards slightly before raising his drink up to his lips again, but not taking a sip.

Still smiling, she brushed her hands against her simple black dress and wrapped her shawl more tightly around her, tucking the end of the long peice of fabric into the crevice of her crossed arms. He looked over at her quickly, almost scanning her, before turning back to the TV.

She looked back at him, watching the constantly changing light from the TV cast different shadows on his face every time the scene changed. There were only three or so sips left in his glass.

"...You know it's not that _I_ want the money, right?" he asked suddenly, turning his head slightly to the left, not really looking at her when he asked it.

She was caught mildly off-guard, his asking for this confirmation of his character. "Of course not."

He nodded slightly, taking a large swig from his glass, finishing the last of it off.

The setting grew slightly awkward, intensifying madly when Gwen realized so. All of a sudden she felt it would all blow up in her face if she made even the slightest of wrong moves.

He seemed to beat her to it, though; in the next instant she saw the glass go flying across the floor and herself wrapped tightly in his arms.

* * *

Courtney hobbled on one leg as DJ supported her on his left shoulder. She had busted her heel and her ankle on the dance floor, causing her to stumble clumsily to the ground in the middle of the crowd that had gathered around her.

And of _course _Duncan had happened to turn around at that instant, watching her make a complete and utter fool of herself.

"Just you wait," she hissed under her breath over and over, stumbling along into the hallway as she tried to make the turn.

DJ struggled to catch her so she wouldn't hit the floor, laying her to rest against the wall.

Stepping back to inspect her ankle, he winced at the spectacle that her joint had become; it was dark purple, and swelling fast.

"Ouch," he said, as if it was hurting him, too. "...A'ight, just sit here and I'll go get Chris, or first aid, or something. Don't move."

DJ walked out of the hallway, back into the maze that was now the party as Heart's 'Barracuda' blasted from the speakers, only a faint beat from her current location. Funny, Duncan had never struck her as the kind that tolerated female-fronted 80's rock. Still, kick-ass riffs were still kick-ass riffs, she figured.

Breathing heavily as her ankle jolted with pain, Courtney leaned back against the wall and rolled her head to one side. She saw a door down the hallway sitting ajar.

Looking around, she slowly started to crawl towards the door, always one to let curiosity get the better of her. Making sure not to move her ankle as she slid across the floor, it seemed like ages before Courtney finally reached the knob, grabbed it, and opened it a little bit more, just enough to stick her head in and look around.

She saw the inventory room stuffed to the ceiling with prop bins, crates tossed about in neat stacks here and there. She also noticed a large, black shadow standing in front of an operating TV. It took her a minute to make out the silhouette of two figures, standing extremely close together.

Courtney rolled back onto the wall, realizing who the two silhouettes were. She was deadly silent as she listened to their conversation, which didn't seem to start until a minute later.

A sharp intake of breath could be heard from the room.

Courtney rolled her eyes, waiting for the conversation to begin. Apparently, though, it was picking up from a break.

"I just think it's a shame that Duncan doesn't care about her," came his reply.

Courtney caught her breath for a second and listened more closely.

"...No, don't say that," Gwen tried to dissuade him.

Courtney peered around the corner and found the two of them locked in a tight embrace, Gwen's hair being tucked slowly behind her ear, their noses touching. Feeling like she really didn't need to see this, Courtney rolled back into her former position, still listening intently.

"Yeah, you're right," Trent agreed softly, his arm resting on her waist.

"...But do you really think that?" Gwen asked.

Courtney was still listening.

"No," Trent said. "But his priorities are mixed up."

Courtney pursed her lips, contemplating the truth in his statement.

"But you don't think he'd really take the money over her, right?"

"Gwen, you and I both know him. He's not letting an opportunity like this get away."

There was no response from Gwen's end. Courtney looked down at her hands in disbelief, vaguely registering that her nails had turned blue from the temperature.

She wrapped her arms around herself for warmth, hearing soft kissing in the room behind her.

It stopped abruptly, leaving a few extra seconds of silence (save for 'Barracuda' thumping softly in the background) hanging in the air like deadweight.

"...did you tell her?" came Gwen's quiet reply.

"I tried, but she wouldn't listen."

Courtney's head snapped back as she remembered the conversation from earlier...

* * *

_He was infuriatingly calm as he held the Rubik's cube in his hand, slouching lazily in his chair as he tried to speak rationally to Courtney, who was shrieking and shaking in utmost frustration._

_"You're WRONG!" she screamed, watching him place the toy down on the table, raising a hand at her to calm down._

_"Courtney, just take a breath. Rationalize. Think about it for a second. What do you think he's gonna do, come that ceremony?" Trent tried to convince her._

_"What the hell do you think you're talking about? I'm gonna be up there with him, and we're gonna take that money! You know that!"_

_"Courtney, I know plenty. Look at yourself."_

_"You're wrong."_

_"Cou-"_

_"YOU'RE WRONG!!!"_

* * *

Couple of days later Courtney and Duncan fell out.

She leaned her head back against the wall as she realized her stubborness had clouded her vision, like it had a tendency to do. Even this time, when someone had only been trying to help her, open her eyes.

Her heart wrenched in pain as her arms dropped weakly to her side. It was only until there was a bout of silence that she realized that something had stopped in the first place. More macking, apparently.

The silence hung.

"...Look, I don't want to talk about this anymore," she heard Gwen mutter softly. "This stuff behind their backs. Just... no more talk."

"...Good idea."

There was a rustle of fabric. Feeling she had heard all she needed to, Courtney got up and left the hallway, leaving them to their moment.

* * *

**A/N: Wow. Long chapter. Sorry you had to sit through all that.**

**Third chapter coming up (hopefully before next Thursday)! Happy Belated Turkey Day!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own TDA/I.**

**Okay, guys, this is pretty much the last chapter. But apparently I've got a little more time now, thanks to the producers. APPARENTLY the winner will be chosen by audience vote, and of course we know who's gonna win it THAT way. Definitely not the one who deserves it.**

**But whatever. Not like it's in my power to change it. So I'll just have to make do with this little chappie here and just move on with it.**

* * *

Courtney leaned onto the wall for support as she tried to haul herself up on one leg. Hopefully she was in obvious enough view that DJ would be able to spot her and come with the paramedic.

Still, her head was spinning with the circumstances she had finally come to realize were hers. Duncan was getting that check. She wasn't. This was _his_ party. _His_ night.

Not hers. Never 'theirs,' either.

His.

Not hers.

_Ever_.

She blinked back the tears that had begun to sting her eyes. Angrily wiping them away, she turned to see if DJ had shown up yet.

"Courtney?"

Well, that answered her question.

"What happened?" the tall Jamaican teen asked as he caught sight of her slightly red, swollen eyes. He had a first aid kit and ice pack in hand.

She breathed in sharply, reprimanding herself mentally for having someone catch her crying. It was one of her pet peeves, right up there with green jelly.

"Nothing," she sobbed lightly but coherently. "It just... hurts."

DJ tossed her arm around his shoulder and started directing her back to her seat. She was silently grateful for having an excuse like that one available, or she might never have been able to explain herself.

The melody had slowly started to melt into the drumline of Kiss' 'I Was Made For Loving You.' Everyone had started to converge on the dance floor, while a scattered few such as Harold and Cody were out on the side, pouring punch into red party cups.

Dropping violently into her seat, Courtney stretched out her leg for DJ to inspect. Panting slightly, she looked down at her ankle and saw that it had swollen to about twice its normal size now.

As DJ lifted her leg onto the chair next to her and pulled out a strip of guaze from the kit, Courtney looked over and saw the top of Duncan's head amidst the crowd. As he took a few steps back, he was in Courtney's complete view, as was she in his.

Forgetting the revelation she had had a few minutes ago, Courtney hissed loudly and dramatically as she put her hand on her leg and directed DJ's hand to her ankle, ignoring the shooting pain.

Making sure her makeshift sound effects had captured Duncan's attention, she cooed sweetly to DJ as she leaned in closer to him.

"Ow," she winced. "DJ, don't you think I should go to the medical tent, or something? It really hurts!"

She batted her eyelashes flirtatiously at him, glancing back at Duncan to make sure he was still watching. DJ, unaware what her ulterior motive really was at the moment, answered it like she really wanted to know.

"Nah, my momma told me when I was little how to take care of this myself. Put your hand down, you'll make it worse."

"But..." Courtney stammered, looking for another way to keep up the charade. She held onto DJ's shoulder suddenly, still keeping Duncan's attention.

DJ, however, not knowing what was going on (and getting sick of Courtney continually hanging on to him), threw Courtney's hand down impatiently and started to reprimand her.

"Court, enough. I'll be done in a minute."

Courtney drew back, slightly stunned. She refused to look back up at Duncan, sure that while he might not have known exactly what they were saying, DJ's actions had fooled her little attempt at garnering a shred of jealousy from him.

Scoffing, Courtney rested her cheek in her hand on the table and waited for DJ to finish wrapping up her ankle. He attached the ice pack with the guaze, presumably so she wouldn't have to hold onto it the entire night.

Resting his hand on his knee after he finished, DJ looked up at Courtney for her approval.

"Well?" he asked, seeing Courtney's signature pout pasted onto her face.

She looked down at her mummified ankle and contemplated her options. She had almost forgotten DJ was there until he grabbed her attention again, waiting for her answer.

"...I should probably get going. I need your help."

DJ rolled his eyes, but stood up nonetheless. Offering his hand to her, he once again had to support her weight as Courtney staggered along to the front door of the building. Courtney kept her head down, ashamed at upsetting DJ, who was not one to easily grow impatient.

* * *

There was a loud, ringing sound prominent over the slowly dying music that gathered everyone's attention. Gesturing for the group to sit down, Chris stood up again at the podium, champaign refilled and microphone poised.

"How many of you having a great time tonight?"

The majority of the crowd applauded and whooped in excitement. Duncan smirked, sitting back up at the stage, Heather to his right.

"Well, then I hope you haven't forgotten the reason you're all here!" Chris continued, beaming. "To honor our winner with his check for one! Million!"

"DOLLARS!" the crowd finished, shouting in excitement.

LeShawna looked to her right as Gwen and Trent sauntered into the room silently, the audience distracted by the check's recipient. Gwen sat down in the second seat, Trent indifferently dropping down next to her, despite the fact that his own seat was halfway across the room. LeShawna grinned at Gwen in realization of this, the latter blushing and gesturing her friend to direct her attention elsewhere.

Up on stage, Duncan glanced around the crowd for Courtney. Not that he cared, or anything, but... still. Just out of curiosity. But it was hard to look for her with all these damn lights in his face.

Regardless, he continued to grin for the sake of his watchers.

"So now, we are proud to present our victor his pretty little sum of a well-deserved..."

Chris was cut off by a loud, purposeful scoff. Everyone's head whirled around to face Harold, his expression unusually stern. And it didn't look like he'd be taking back his rude interruption anytime soon.

Chris' smile seem strained.

"Yes, Harold? Is there something you'd like to add?" Chris asked, hoping he wouldn't have to stick around long enough for an answer.

Harold smirked humorlessly.

"Nah, I just thought it was funny."

Duncan's brow furrowed. Figured the little stringbean would try to worm his way into the spotlight tonight.

"Thought what was funny?" Duncan spat out, Chris rolling his eyes and slapping his card on the podium as he realized the ball had started to roll.

Harold rose from his seat.

"You think you deserve that money? You think that your life is so bad? What're you gonna use it for, anyway?" Harold challenged.

"Whatever the hell I want!" Duncan rose his voice, also standing up from his chair. Heather didn't seem the least bit concerned.

"Come on, Duncan. Yeah, you could rip off bail a couple of times. Then what?"

Duncan started fuming.

"I don't think that's any of your damn business!" he shouted.

Harold fought the urge to grin, knowing that he might as well be taunting Duncan with a matador costume and red sheet. No thank you. But he continued to prod him with questions nonetheless.

"But you know what else, Duncan? You've always been spoiled, but you never wanted to admit it."

There was a collective gasp, many waiting for Duncan's reaction.

The delinquent narrowed his eyes dangerously and scoffed.

"Yeah, that must be it. Guess the Mercedes outside gave it away," Duncan retorted, loosely reminding everyone how he came from a big family in Pembroke that got by on a small, law enforcement yearly salary.

"Cut the crap, Duncan," Harold snapped. "Sure, you might not have a big house, or a butler that serves you hand and foot all day. But you're spoiled rotten."

Duncan rolled his eyes, waiting for the little geek to justify himself before he went down there and handed his ass to him on a silver platter.

"You come from whatever place gave you the impression that you can snap your fingers and either someone does as they're told, or your little possey shows and backs you up," Harold accused.

"Bull!" Duncan bellowed. "And if you're gonna stay here just to whine at me, how 'bout I show you the door? It's been dying to meet you."

"So this is how you prove your point?" came another voice from the crowd. All turned in their chairs to see this new challenger.

Trent's expression was stony, although there hid a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

"You throw a temper tantrum?"

Duncan steamed, seeing Gwen try to dissuade her acquaintance from getting involved, but to no avail.

"You talking to me, buddy?" Duncan threatened, eyes bulging in rage as Trent's expression went from stern to slightly bemused at his expense. Chris placed a hand on the punk's shoulder, reminding him to remain calm.

"No, he's right!" Harold shouted, causing Duncan to lurch forward, fists clenched. The rest of the crowd had started to murmur nervously, gasping a little as the winner almost came down off the stage, had he not been held in place by the combined forces of Chris and Chef.

"Why do you think Courtney isn't backing you up right now?"

Duncan was silent for a minute as he skimmed the room again, wondering where the girl had vanished to.

"She left early," DJ called out from the back of the room to clarify.

Stunned, Duncan couldn't stop his shoulders from visibly drooping as he took in the news.

Harold snorted as he silently let Duncan know there was little else he could do.

"Come on, LeShawna," Harold spat out, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair and heading towards the exit.

At first LeShawna seemed shocked, holding her spoon in the air for a few seconds before noticing Harold walk away.

Glancing down at her plate, she made up her mind and dropped the cutlery, bringing the entire dish with her as she followed the scraggly boy, shouting "Hold on, sugar baby!"

Gwen buried her face in her hands, realizing that she was not going to just get through the night like she had planned. She heard the seat next to her scoot back, looking up to see Trent about to follow the other two out the door.

He looked down at her almost sorrowfully, knowing that Gwen was, by some loose definition, friends with Duncan, understanding that she didn't have to leave if she didn't want to.

Shaking her head in exhaustion and looking down at the table, she grabbed his hand as she stood up, following him out to the Lame-o-sine that sat outside, waiting for early departures.

Duncan was almost beside himself at this point.

"Yeah, good riddance! The lot o' ya!"

"Duncan," Chris hissed before regaining his own composure. "Why don't we just get on with this?"

Pasting back on his best fake smile, Chris ushered Duncan back to his seat next to Heather, who visibly rolled her eyes at the little display of drama that had just taken place.

"Well," Chris said, throwing in an obviously forced chuckle (Air time didn't come cheap). "I can see we hit a little snag there. But let's just make the best of the rest of the evening that we can, huh?"

There was no reply from the crowd. A few muffled coughs were heard from the back seats.

Face dropping, Chris decided he had had enough of playing up his little charade.

"So I'm proud to announce Duncan the winner of his One! Million! Dollars!"

Streamers and confetti flew pathetically around the stage as Chef handed the winner a large cardboard cutout of his check.

Light applause arose from the crowd as cameras flashed to capture the face of the reality show's winner. Smiling and holding the check with Heather at his side, Duncan stood thinking to himself as the bulbs flashed away.

..._'Who needs Courtney anyway? And besides, now I don't have to keep that damn 50-50 deal with that overbearing drama queen._

_...Yeah, this was for the best.'_

So it was a bit of a surprise when Chris ended up prying the flashy prop from his arms and returning to the mike.

"And now if you'll just give us our little sum here back..."

Shocked, Duncan hastily snatched back the cardboard.

"Excuse me?"

Chris looked around uncertainly, seeing that the attention they were now garnering was certainly not the kind he had hoped for.

"Well, Duncan, the agreement was that after receiving the check, you would return it and hopefully point out your charity of choice..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Duncan cut him off, holding his hand up. "What charity? _What_ agreement?"

"It was in the fine print, Dunk. 'After signing his or her signature in the space below, the mentioned participant hereby assents to the amount of one million dollars being redirected to the charity of his or her choice.'"

Duncan stared back at him as if he had grown a second head.

Glancing around insecurely, Chris leaned in and hissed, "What's the big deal, man? So you walk outta here one million dollars less, the same way you walked in."

"Oh no," Duncan snapped, angrily snatching back the check. "I've worked my butt off here long enough. I'm not just walking out without my reward."

Chris' eyes narrowed.

"It's really not like you have a choice, Duncan. It's the law."

"Do I strike you as someone that gives a crap what the law says?"

Chris drew back angrily, looking suddenly to the cameras and gesturing madly to cut off the feeds.

"Hey, what gives?" Duncan almost shouted as the lights directed at the stage dimmed slightly.

Whirling around in anger to face Duncan, Chris caught him square in the eye, looking like a father that had lost his patience with a toddler.

"So you're willing to let money that would be used to help people incapable of helping themselves be blown on something like... whatever. Bail."

"Don't twist my words around. I didn't know about any of this until now."

"Guys, just calm down," Heather rationalized, trying to mediate between the two (a first for all). "There's got to be some kind of legal agreement that you can work out here."

It appeared neither had heard her in their little staring contest.

"...That's a shame, Duncan," Chris finally broke the silence. "And for some reason I expected better from you."

Turning back to the podium, Chris stole one last glance at the winner.

"Don't know why."

The lights brightened as the cameras started rolling again, causing both Duncan and Heather to reflexively shield their eyes.

"Welcome back, viewers!" Chris smiled jubilantly, adapting his former facade. "Well, it looks like that's it for tonight. Sorry, but we have to wrap up early..."

"Wait."

Chris spun around, seeing Duncan look down at his feet, check still in hand.

Heather seemed mildly surprised as well, gingerly touching Duncan's arm as she awaited his statement.

Duncan took a deep breath.

_...Courtney, I hope you're watching this somewhere on cable._

"Chris?"

The host raised his eyebrows.

"...Here's the check."

Placing the cardboard on the podium, Duncan sauntered off defeatedly to the edge of the stage.

Monstrous applause filled the room.

Snapping his head up, Duncan looked at the faces that brightly greeted him off the stage for his Samaritan deed.

And he smiled.

* * *

Seeing the footage on the small, ten-by-ten television in the room, Courtney stopped packing her clothes as she held a folded t-shirt to her chest.

"...Duncan?"

* * *

Many continued to pat Duncan on the back for his change of heart. There were whoops of congratulation on his way to the punch table, Heather at his side.

"Nice move there, tough guy," she prodded sarcastically. "Courtney would be proud."

Duncan snorted again.

"Please. Like I care. And even then, so what? She ditched me."

"True. But it doesn't change the fact that you still care about her."

"No I don't."

"Yes, you do, Duncan," Heather retorted, lifting her glass to her lips. "Trust me, I've had men lie to me before."

She sauntered away, leaving Duncan to pour himself another cup of punch, pondering how the night could've ended so drastically different than the way he had planned.

"...Duncan?" a voice came, interrupting his thoughts.

He whirled around and found a familiar freckled princess standing next to a table for support behind him.

Duncan was too stunned to speak for a minute. She smirked.

"That was very... philanthropic of you," she murmured.

He looked down at a spot of spilled juice on the ground.

"Yeah, well..." he trailed off. "Like Chris said, it's the same million I didn't have when I walked in."

He kept his eyes on the floor. Smiling warmly, Courtney slowly hobbled her way over and tried to balance herself on his shoulders.

Catching her balance, Duncan had not been prepared for what she did next.

He found himself wrapped in a tight bear hug of approval. There were coos and 'awws' coming from all directions, encouraging him to return the gesture.

Smiling awkwardly, and then less strained, he silently wrapped his arms back around her as well, receiving even more applause.

Chris smiled and took the microphone.

_"That's it everybody. Good night!"_

* * *

**A/N: I made the deadline! :D *confetti strewn about***

**Thanks for sticking through the story, everybody. Hope you liked it!**


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